


Her Dark God

by Dmonius



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark Draco, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dmonius/pseuds/Dmonius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate universe, Draco Malfoy was sent to Durmstrang where he got deeply involved with the dark arts. When he returns to England to fight at Voldemort's side, he claims the only price worthy for him: Hermione Granger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Dark God

Hermione never understood why Bellatrix was the only one not wearing a mask. All the others, surrounding he and Ginny, wore black robes and the typical Deatheater mask, only Bellatrix, standing slightly apart, gave her identity away – not that one wouldn't have recognized her voice and laughter anyway. The only one that to stick out of the ten-something group was a figure standing next to the mad witch, holding his wand down and not in her direction.

“Stay calm,” Hermione told the girl, and continued with a lie: “Everything is going to be alright.”

“You really think we let you get away?” Bellatrix asked. “Drop your wands, dearest, and let us girls talk, shall we?”

“On my mark,” Hermione whispered.

A flash of light erupted – that definitely was _not_ Hermione's mark – and she found herself on the floor with her wand no longer in her hand. The figure – how she recognized him, her, she didn't know – stood above her and had his boot on her chest. She tried to push him away, but he only twitched his wand and she kept still.

“Draco! What did you do that for?”

“You're not hurting this one,” Draco said. “I'll kill the other.”

“No!” was what Hermione wanted to cry out, but she found his wand at her throat and he pulled away his mask. Hermione looked into radiant grey eyes, underlined by marble-white skin and blonde hair that framed delicate features, only distorted by the devilish grin on his face. She tried to look away, but he caught her by the throat and kept her head in place “Look into those eyes. Look only into my eyes.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, Hermione could see how he lifted his wand, but she was so engrossed with his eyes that she caught the green light a second to late. She wanted to turn away, but his hands were strong and he smiled at her. At the end of his wand, there was a green line connecting it with Ginny's lifeless body. He smirked, Hermione cried.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked.

“Marking you.... _indefinitely,_ beautiful.”

“Draco! Stop touching that mudblood, you hear me?”

Draco looked at Bellatrix and only lifted an eyebrow before turning again to Hermione. “A mudblood are you? You know, at Durmstrang, they told us that mudblood witches were ugly and weak...while I can surely confirm the latter, the former though...”

“Give me back my wand and I show you how weak I am,” Hermione spit at him, both literally and figuratively. He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“Which wand? This one?” He put forth his hand and Hermione's wand was lifted up into it, he looked at it disapprovingly. “It now belongs to me – I am its new master, but I'll allow you to keep it, mudblood. Along with something else.”

The green line now left Ginny's lifeless body and slowly approached Hermione. She tried to get away, but he only had his hand on her throat still and she couldn't let go.

“What are you doing to me?”

“It's a present, little one,” Draco whispered into her ears, “A present I'll be retrieving, promise.”

The green line approached and Hermione, out of a reflex, opened her mouth, so that the line could enter her body. She looked up and the grey in his eyes was gone – his eyes were as green as the line, as the curse he had sent to Ginny, but Hermione couldn't focus any more: the pain engulfed her and when she awoke, Bellatrix, the Deatheaters and Draco were all gone.

 

When Ron and Harry found her, Hermione had already buried Ginny. She had tried to use her wand, but it didn't respond properly to her anymore. It felt like it was tainted – it had changed its master now. They mourned Ginny, but not for long. When they were back at Grimmauldplace, Ron noticed it first.

“Hermione, what is that on your forehead?” he asked.

“Excuse me? What should be on my forehead?”

The shock appeared on Ron's face and he pointed his finger at her head. “Merlin! Harry, look! It's a scar – it's your scar.”

“That's impossible,” Harry said, but as Hermione turned towards him, his expression mirrored Ron's. “I take that back.”

“What do you mean?”, Hermione asked – when she went to a mirror, she had the answer and didn't want it anymore. There was a scar on her forehead, that was for sure, but it had the form of a lightning bold and was an exact copy of Harry's scar.

“What does that mean?”

 

The war was raging on for so long now that Hermione always felt the faces they encountered got less and less. Nevertheless, Draco, as the Death Eater from a fortnight ago had been called, was a new player in the war. Revealed to be the son of the late Lucious Malfoy, he had spent his time at Durmstrang and now returned at Voldemort's side to use his dark magic for his cause. He had an innate knowledge of the Dark Arts and had defeated several aurors during his short stay in England so far. Nobody except for Ron, Harry and Dumbledore knew about what he did to her, though they were still trying to work out what he did to her exactly.

Now, Hermione sat in the library of the Grimmauldplace, but could not do anything. She just stared at the covers of the books she had read so long ago and...

“Hermione.”

The voice had burned itself into her brain, and she recognized it immediately. Did it just call out her name?

“Hermione.”

The scar hurt again. Hermione tried not to touch it, but just relaxed and remembered the lessons Dumbledore had taught her before he went to Europe, but the voice came back.

“Come to me. Come outside.”

“No,” she whispered, barely audible to herself.

“Come outside. I'm waiting.”

“No,” she whispered again. Now, with more emphasis, “I am not coming with you!”

“Come. You want it, love.”

“No,” she repeated again.

She found herself in front of the door and put forth her hand.

“Hermione!”, somebody said, but the voice was someone else's, and Hermione already opened the door.

It went fast after that. _He_ just appeared, wearing nothing but a thick, black robe, and had put forth his hand – all Hermione did was obey. She could feel his ice-cold skin on her, see the grin on his face and hear the easily muttered curse. She tasted his lips when he kissed her. Then, they apparated and were gone.

 

There was pain and there were chains. Her memory diffused after some time, she barely remembered her name, her identity, but she knew that she still was. His thoughts spoke in her mind and she had pictures in her head how _he_ killed Ron, killed Neville and tortured Harry and Luna. Sometimes, he was close and his touch and his kisses caused pain. Other times, he was far away and only spoke to her in their mind.

A constant state of equilibrium made it difficult to focus, but not difficult to forget or to replace. She could not even recall if the first _I love you_ were his words or hers, and it did not make that much of a difference anymore. Sometimes, she fell in his arms. Other times, he threw her on the floor and tortured her. His whims have become her destiny, and she had only one question to ask: “Why did you break me?” He had corrected her one time, his voice as constant and clear as ever: “What did I break you...for?”

 

There was one episode that always remained the clearest during her period of nothingness. Her dark god appeared out of the shadows; she could feel his approach before he actually came – a part of him was always with her, that was for sure. She always forgot what happened after he came and when he left her – but not this time. He had a scar on his face and she approached him. She left the four-poster bed behind to kneel next to him.

“What happened?”

“Potter,” he said. “The half-blood says hello.”

Hermione wanted to tear a part of her nightgown, silver and silk, apart, but she stopped mid-air and breathed hard. “Harry did this to you?”

“Sure he did. But you should see what I did to him.” He nodded impatiently to make her continue, and so she did.

“What did you do to him?”

“I didn't kill him. The Dark Lord wants him for himself. Let's just say that his forehead isn't the only place on his body with a scar in the form of a lightning bolt.”

“Just like me.”

Draco looked at her confused. “What do you mean?”

“Didn't you mark me just the same?” Hermione asked. She wanted to touch her forehead and lifted her arm, but he caught her wrist and started kissing her hand.

“That's different.”

“Why?”

Her dark god smiled and kissed her. “His wound is in the _flesh_. Yours is in the _mind_.”

“What did you do to me?” Hermione asked again, the tears so close.

He didn't respond right away, but lifted her up and laid her on the bed before he laid down next to her. He pulled away her locks that were on her forehead, she flinched when he touched her skin at that spot, but she had soon learned not to move away.

“They told me you're a smart witch, Hermione. The smartest witch of our generation. Is that true?”

“Yes, Draco.”

“You see, that's the reason why I chose you to be the mother of my children. I needed a strong and intelligent wife, not some whose pure blood-status resulted in nothing but madness. So, do you know what a Horcrux is, Hermione?”

She stared at him and nodded. “Yes, I do.”

He looked surprised, but that soon changed into a smile. Again, he kissed her hand, then her forehead, the scar. The pain wasn't unbearable. It had gotten less and less worse since the first time he had raped her.

“So what did I do to you, Hermione?”

“You...you connected me with your soul,” she said.

“That's not quite accurate. You see – I put a part of my soul into your body. So I can always be with you, even when I'm far away. Even when I'm dead you'll always have me. I'm not only here – I am in your _mind_.”

“W-w-why me?”

“The first day, I went to the Hogwarts express,” he whispered into her ear. “I did not get on it because my father finally got his whim and sent me to Durmstrang, but we were there that very same day. I just saw you. I felt you. That's why I came back. When this war is over, I'll take you away.”

“Where?”

He had undressed her completely. She hadn't even noticed. As always, the intercourse left nothing much but a fuzzy blur in which his last words had gone under.

 

They said Dumbledore killed him. The battle between the two had been long and fierce, they said, but in the end, Dumbledore's magic had proven the strongest. If it had been a killing curse directly – somehow, Hermione thought it not to be Dumbledore's style – or another curse to kill her master, she didn't know. But not long after, Dumbledore was killed by the Dark Lord who subsequently was slain by Harry.

She had felt Draco's death. It felt like she had died herself, but she was still here after it happened. The emptiness inside her was eternal, but the darkness grew stronger and stronger every day. Harry had freed her and brought her home to her parents. The days had gotten brighter and brighter, but the darkness grew still.

 

The voice told her to pretend happiness. The voice told her that everything will be alright now, but that she had to prove herself to be worthy. Burying herself deeper and deeper in her studies served one purpose, his purpose. The voice whispered silent declarations of love and the scar burned every time Harry touched her. She tried to make him forget his worry, to forget his fear about her, but she couldn't.

One day, at her twentieth birthday, she had solved the problem. It had been so easy and when all that was left in the cauldron was the red stone, the voice had congratulated her on creating the Philosopher's Stone. The brightest witch of her age had solved the problem of classical alchemy – Snape would have been proud if Draco hadn't killed him after his ascension.

She poisoned Harry in her sleep. It was easy. He trusted her, he loved her like a sister. So when she had poisoned him, she left Godric's Hollow in the middle of the night. At the ruins of Malfoy manor, his shadow was expecting her.

She could hear them outside, bombarding the manor with their spells, but hers was close to completion. She took the stone and spoke the words that the voice whispered to her with ease, but her wand, quivering in her hand, fell down several times. The fulfilment of the spell was supposed to have been a release, but the actual outcome was quite different.

A part of her soul was ripped away and the mists around her formed a body. He was all naked when his body was restored.

“I'm so proud, my love,” he whispered in her ears. Without the use of his wand, the mists were formed into a cloak. He put forth his hand. “Give it to me.”

“It's not gonna work,” she whispered, “You're not the wand's master.”

“Give it to me!”

She pulled out the Elder Wand and held it in her hand. She pointed it at him, but when he did not even flinch, she knew to whom she belonged.

“I don't understand,” Hermione said. “I killed Harry. The wand belongs to me.”

“Your wand belongs to me, my love,” Draco whispered in her ears, “I took it from you so long ago – I am the master of your wand, so the Elder Wand now is mine. It is I who is the true master here.”

Draco kissed her and she kissed him back, pulled him close and didn't let him go. The Philosopher's Stone flew into his hand and he just chuckled, shook his head disbelievingly.

“You did it, my love. You did it all for me.” A movement of his wand made them disappear and go somewhere else. She didn't really care as long as he was with her. “You gave me the mightiest wand in existence, immortality, and a body to bear my child. And why did you do it, Hermione?”

His soul was no longer burning in her mind, it was no longer penetrating her thoughts and corrupting her existence, but the dark god was closer than ever and the answer she gave him was as inevitable as sunlight: “Because I love you. Always.”


End file.
